I feel like prey.
I can feel the invisible eyes of Grief in the trees, and hiding behind the rocks as I walk through my day. Where are you? I search the usual spots--in my marriage, in my sleeplessness, in my anger. I know he is waiting to take me, but then he doesn't come. I maniacally keep busy by surrounding myself with people and things, but I know he is still there.
Grief is a motherfucker. And he is the most patient motherfucker I know. Grief is starting to feel abusive, like a long, intense game of chess at gunpoint. I feel stalked and beaten. I am worn down. Sure, Grief takes you when he wants you in the beginning, but if you somehow figure out ways to keep him at bay by surrounding yourself maniacally with people and things, he can wait until you are alone, or feeling lonely.
Grief seizes my back, and wrenches me into a pretzel. I feel like I cannot walk, and then I do. Slowly, but I walk. Grief whispers in my ear, "Maybe this isn't grief at all, maybe you are just too fat. Maybe no one misses Lucy anymore, except you." And I know he is fucking lying to me. I know it, but maybe it feels that way to me too every now and again.